The Wedding
by The Seamonkey
Summary: Excerpt from the will of the recently deceased Mabel Granger: ‘I am very fond of my dear Hermione, and I wish her the best in all her endeavors. However, I have noticed that she has not yet found happiness. I wish to create an incentive...’ HHr.
1. 1AM Phone Call

**A/N: Lately my mind's been going nuts to write HHr fics, so here's another one. It's pure fluff. You have been warned. This one (for a change) won't start out as a one-shot that I'll later add to. :P I'm planning to continue it. (By the way, if the plot seems familiar, it's because it's been done a thousand times. ;) I just wanted to write my own version.) It annoys me when people threaten not to continue their stories if they don't get reviews, so don't feel pressured to write them. If you **_**want**_** to, of course, they're always very welcome. Also, I don't believe in prolonged introductions. We've all read the HP books. We know the deal by now. I prefer to jump right in. So without further ado, enjoy.**

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**Full Summary: A twenty-one-year-old Harry is woken up at one in the morning by a phone call from a frustrated Hermione, saying her great aunt just died. The good news: her eccentric (and considerably well-off) aunt left Hermione a huge chunk of her fortune in her will. The bad news: Hermione can only inherit it if she has found, quote, "a nice young man to share it with". The worse news: Hermione has to have found said nice young man by the date set in the will, which is less than a month from her aunt's death—the week of Hermione's cousin Angela's wedding. **

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_BRRRRRRING._

Harry jerked awake, one of his eyelids sticking to the bottom lid for a second before opening fully. Looking around groggily, half-risen to a sitting position, he squinted at the clock. It read _1:07am_, the red glowing numbers bright in contrast to the darkness of the room.

_BRRRRRRING._

He jumped slightly. The phone was unnaturally loud. He'd been having a good dream, too. Something about the Muggle sport of waterskiing. Rubbing his eyes and shaking his bangs out of his face—he was overdue for a haircut—he groped for his glasses on the bedside table. He sat up properly as he lifted the receiver before it could ring a third time, and stifled a yawn. "Hello?"

"Hi, Harry, sorry to call you so late," said the female voice on the other end. Immediately Harry sat up straighter, a little more awake. Why would Hermione be calling him at one in the morning unless it was some sort of emergency? "I just—I don't know why I'm calling, really," she said, sounding awkward and embarrassed as if she'd done it on impulse and felt silly now. Harry relaxed. It couldn't be that important, though Hermione feeling awkward was a new concept. He leaned back into the pillows and let his head fall back with a thunk against the headboard. "My great aunt died this morning," she was saying now.

"Oh. I'm sorry," Harry said, meaning it but feeling slightly cranky that she'd called him _now_ just to say that. "Were you close to her?"

"Yeah, actually. I was her favourite of all the grandchildren, but don't tell any of my cousins I said that." Harry chuckled. "I grew up without a grandmother—they both died before I was born—and she kind of substituted. She was a bit eccentric, and my favourite relative when I was little. I grew apart from my family considerably after we found out I was a witch, you know, but she and I always stayed close." Harry nodded along silently, listening. His mind was only half on the conversation. He wanted to go back to sleep. She knew he hated being woken up before he had to. But he supposed that if Hermione needed to vent about her dead aunt, he was a better choice than Ron, who probably would have hung up after she'd told him she didn't know why she was calling, and been snoring a minute later.

The three of them had remained firm friends after Hogwarts and that hellish year searching for the Horcruxes. After the culminating battle between the Death Eaters, the Order and the Ministry, Harry had had the same mixed publicity that he'd had all his wizarding life. He was the Boy-Who-Conquered one day, and a desperate attention-seeking teenager the next. Fortunately for his sanity, it had died down a little after various Order members paid private visits to magazine and newspaper publishers. He found he wasn't able to make many friends even once the fervor had dissipated. Everyone seemed to be interested only in his 'fame and fortune'—a laughable notion in his mind—or just wanted to hear how he'd defeated Voldemort. Either way, it didn't bother him anymore. Harry had bought a flat in London and settled down with a comfortable job in Diagon Alley, managing Fred and George's shop. They paid him good money, he gave them good publicity, and it gave them time to invent, so it was a good deal all around. If anyone thought that he was putting his talents to waste, no one said anything. He liked his job.

"...Harry?"

"What? Sorry," he said, blinking rapidly. He'd begun to doze. "What were you saying?"

He heard Hermione sigh. "Typical man," she grumped. He felt bad, but she spoke before he could apologize. "I _said_, they found her will in a drawer in her bedroom this afternoon, and she left me a...a considerable amount of money."

"How much?"

"Enough," she said, and he knew she was blushing at her end of the line. He grinned. She deserved a break. Healer work was demanding, and it didn't pay as well as it once did. One trip to Gringotts with her Muggle inheritance and she'd be set. She could redo her flat like she'd been meaning to do for the past two years. Harry was surprised to find himself thinking even about her maddening house-elf lobby group—she could fund that better now, too.

"That's terrific," he replied, edging his bottom closer to the headboard so he could sit up straighter. "I mean, I'm sorry that she died, but that's not a bad consolation, is it?"

Hermione laughed. "You could call it that." Harry got the feeling she wasn't telling him something, and a moment later she proved him right. "See...she left a certain...condition...to the inheritance."

"Uh oh."

"Uh oh is right."

"Dare I ask?" he grinned into the dark, looking at the ceiling and tugging absentmindedly on the phone cord.

"You don't want to know," she moaned, half-laughing. She picked up a glass and took a sip of water or whatever drink it was. It made him thirsty too. "I guess I have to tell you now. She said—oh, where is it...I have the will with me, since I was the primary person named in it." He heard her rummaging through papers in the background and waited patiently. "Hang on...here it is. First it says how much goes to me, which you don't need to know, and then afterwards it says this, listen: 'I am very fond of my dear Hermione, and I wish her the best in all her endeavors. However, I have noticed that she has not yet found happiness. I wish to create an incentive for her, and as I do not have much time left, therefore must resort to bribery. Please ensure that Hermione inherits the aforementioned measure of my fortune _on the condition_ that she has found a nice young man to share it with. And as further incentive, the date after which she will lose her inheritance shall be the weekend of my granddaughter Angela's wedding, which I regrettably predict I will not live to attend. If Hermione has not found her happiness by then, please distribute her money among the other five grandchildren of the family. I will leave it up to her mother to divide it evenly.'"

Harry was speechless by this point. Eccentric? The old lady had been out of her mind!

"It goes on for a while, but that's the gist of it," Hermione sighed. "It's not clear about exactly what I have to do. Get married, or just have a boyfriend, or whatever. She even named the person who's supposed to _evaluate_ me on the wedding weekend—her son, my uncle Mark. I'm not really that close to him. She probably did that on purpose."

"That's ridiculous!" Harry exclaimed. "She can't really do that, can she?"

"She can do whatever she wants. The lawyers had a good laugh at me, I can tell you," she said dryly. "One of them even wanted to arrange to come to the wedding to get Mark's opinion, and probably so that he can laugh some more at me. I hate lawyers," she grumbled. Harry laughed despite his opinion of her great aunt's decision.

"What're you going to do?"

"I have no idea," she said, and made a little whining noise. "I can't just pick up any bloke off the street."

"Wait, you're actually going to try and _get_ the inheritance?" Harry sat up even straighter, if that was possible. "You haven't dated since Ron! Everyone knows that."

"Yeah, I know. I thought about just taking him along, but it might get...awkward," she said delicately. He knew what she meant. Their breakup hadn't been the prettiest he'd ever seen, and it had taken months of intermediation on Harry's part to get them to relax back into the easy friendship of their youth. Even now, two years later, they didn't bring it up. Ron wasn't one known to forgive and forget. "Anyway, I'm debating whether or not to even tell him. He might offer to come to the wedding, and we both know how that would go. It's not that I wouldn't like him to," she said hurriedly. "I just..."

"No, I understand," Harry assured her. "I even agree. He'd get all sullen."

"I mean I love him to death and all, but..."

"Yeah."

Harry nodded, absently forgetting that she couldn't see him. Suddenly he was overcome by a bone-cracking yawn, and he remembered that it was—he glanced at the clock—one thirty in the morning. He sighed. He wouldn't be able to get back to sleep for a while now, he knew. He was too wide awake. _Oh well_, he mentally shrugged. "Hang on a minute, I'm switching to the kitchen phone." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and winced at the coldness of the floor against his feet. His eyes were adjusted to the dark by now, so he didn't turn on the light as he walked into the kitchen and unhooked the phone, laying it on the counter. He went back to hang up the bedroom one and then came back, grabbing a tomato from the fridge as he passed it. "Still there?" he asked into the phone, cradling it between his ear and his shoulder as he picked the stem off the tomato.

"No, I went to a Quidditch game."

"Who won?" he joked, and bit into the bright red skin.

"Ireland," she chuckled, then paused. "Are you eating something?"

"A tomato, actually," he said around a mouthful.

"A tomato."

"Mhmm."

"You have the strangest eating habits."

Harry shrugged. "It's healthy. Vegetables are good for you."

"Tomatoes are actually fruit, you know. Seeds on the inside. It's a common misconception."

"Don't tell me—you read it _ages _ago in Hogwarts: A History."

"Shut up."

They both laughed. Harry leaned back in his chair, smiling contentedly. He thoroughly enjoyed the banter they frequently engaged in. Most often it was just stupid things they talked about; whatever came to mind. He had to admit that he was closer to Hermione than to Ron, especially these days. The three of them had always been close, but after the awkwardness at the end of Ron and Hermione's relationship things had never been _quite_ the same. Ron had made other friends while Hermione had found solace in Harry. Harry rarely socialized with people he hadn't known almost all his life—the Weasleys, Hermione's family occasionally, the odd old schoolmate—and Hermione had never been an overly outgoing person. For a while, it had looked like Ron was going to go his own separate way. Harry had gradually won their friend back, and the trio had gotten close again, but over the past two years there seemed to be a growing distance between Ron and the other two. Usually Harry tried to ignore it. He wasn't much fond of change.

"So," he said after having let the comfortable silence drag on a while as he ate his tomato. "Want me to come with you to the wedding?"

"Really? You would?"

"Sure. Shouldn't be too hard. I'll just put my arm around you and call you 'dear' and you'll be golden. How's that sound?"

"Harry, you're a lifesaver, I mean it. I wasn't going to ask you. I didn't want to be presumptuous."

He laughed good-naturedly. "Nah. I'd be honored to accompany you, _dear_. It'll be fun. So where is it?"

"Oh—that's the other thing. I didn't want to mention it—I hope you can take a few days off work. It's sort of a week-long deal. Angela's husband is originally from Cuba, and he wanted to have the wedding back home, so...they're having it there. It's a no-present thing—everybody's present gets to be coming to the wedding, so you don't need to worry about that."

"It's in _Cuba?_"

"Yeah," she said, and he imagined she was biting her lip. "I know it's a long trip, and the hotel will be expensive too; I figure, if I bring you and get the inheritance, I can pay off the debt I'll be in from going to the wedding. I can't pay for you right now, but I'll probably be able to reimburse you later."

"Are you kidding? I'm sold!" Harry laughed, getting up and turning on the kitchen light. He blinked rapidly, eyes hurting from the sudden change, and squinted at the calendar hanging on the side of the fridge. "You had me at 'a week in Cuba'. Please tell me it's on Varadero."

"Yeah," she said, sounding guilty. "It's so expensive—"

"And should be, for the best beaches in the world," he reasoned. He had the money to spend. He could even help pay for Hermione if she would let him; of course she'd never ask. She had too much pride. He grinned. He'd never ask either, though he'd never need to. "When is it?"

"The week of the thirtieth. End of the month. People are flying down on either the Sunday night or sometime on Monday, and the wedding's on Friday, so we'll all probably leave Saturday afternoon."

Harry nodded in affirmation. He could definitely take the five days off. Fred and George might even count it as a vacation, and give him half-pay for the week. "Sounds good to me. I'll talk to the twins tomorrow about it."

"Harry, thank you so much for doing this. It really means a lot."

"Please—the pleasure's mine. _Really_," he laughed, and looked at the clock again. It was two now. He had to get up at seven the next morning. "Well, I hate to cut short plans for this little adventure, but I seriously have to get to bed. I'm up in five hours."

"Okay. God, is it two already? I should get to sleep too," Hermione laughed. "I think we should get together for dinner so I can give you some insider hints about my extended family."

"Great. How's tomorrow after work sound? I can come by around seven."

"Brilliant. Thanks so much again, Harry!"

He chuckled. "I'd say you owe me one, but I get a vacation in the deal, so we're even."

"Heh. Well, see you tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Night," he said, and hung up. He turned off the light and bumped into the door frame on the way back into his bedroom, then fell into bed and dreamed of white sand and turquoise water.


	2. Sunday to Monday

**A/N: Hullo, I'm back. I surprise myself at the speed with which I'm updating lately. The writing bug has bitten me. Note—I have skipped the month between the late-night phone call and the Sunday that Harry and Hermione are leaving for Cuba. I'm sure that none of you really wanted me to spend any effort on writing that time anyway. If you **_**really**_** want to know, Harry and Hermione spent a lot of time together going over details about her family, they both got the time off work for the wedding week from their bosses, and life continued normally until the Sunday. So there you have it.**

**This is a double chapter. Normally I would have posted this as two separate ones, but there wasn't enough in the second part. In any case, enjoy.**

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"Now are you sure you've got everything you need?"

"_Yes_, Hermione," Harry groaned. "I've checked three times already."

"Where's your passport?"

"In your purse."

"Really?" she asked, looking surprised, and checked. She came up with both their passports in one hand. "There you go."

Harry laughed. "It's safest there, according to you ten minutes ago. Look, it's already two and the flight's at four. Are we ready to go yet?"

"We're ready."

"Finally," he teased. "To Cuba!" With that, he dragged his rolling suitcase out into the hallway, let Hermione through, and locked the door behind her. Harry flagged down a cab and they took it to the airport. They went through customs smoothly, checked their bags, and waited around forty-five minutes for the plane to start loading. The flight over was long and uneventful. It took seven hours, but with the time difference between London and Havana, they arrived at six o' clock local time feeling like it was eleven. They'd both napped on the plane, though, so they weren't tired. Another cab took them from the airport in Havana out to Varadero, which took roughly an hour. Once they were driving down the road along white beaches, passing hundreds of colourful hotels, Hermione got out the little slip of paper with the name of the hotel that everyone was staying at. The driver knew it. They passed homes interspersed between the hotels, probably full of all the people who worked there.

Finally they arrived, and only at seven thirty. "We still have plenty of time to check out the hotel and see who's already here," said Hermione. "I don't think the sun even sets until much later." Harry agreed, hauling their bags out of the trunk of the car. Hermione tossed her hair in a breeze that came up, and smiled brilliantly. "I can't believe we're here," she said, her excitement showing at last. She'd been nervous all through the past week, worrying that her family would suspect something or that they'd see through her and Harry entirely and she wouldn't get the inheritance and she'd be a laughingstock and be unable to face her family and the whole week would be ruined. Harry had patiently calmed her down whenever she'd had panic attacks, but she seemed to be just fine now. He grinned, looking at her. They'd been at the hotel less than five minutes and she was already more relaxed.

"When should I start...you know?" he asked.

"Um—now, I suppose. My family has a nasty habit of popping up when they're least expected. And I don't mean just on vacations, either," she laughed. "Once my aunt dropped in right in the middle of a fight between my parents. It was hilarious, the looks on their faces. Anyway, I don't—oh my god, there's Angela," she gasped, obviously unprepared and therefore prone to a panic attack. Harry saw it coming a mile away and came up behind her, massaging her shoulders. "That's good, keep doing that for a minute so she can see. Angela!" she called, waving, and a blonde young woman turned towards them.

"Hermione!" she cried, squealing loudly and running over to the driveway past the semi-outdoor lobby of the hotel. That is, hurrying. In Harry's opinion, a woman couldn't very well run in heels the size of hers. "You made it! Oh, it's so exciting! Have you checked in yet? Was the flight okay? How _are_ you?"

Hermione laughed, hugging her cousin. "No, we haven't checked in yet—we only just got our bags out the car," she told Angela. "Have you met Harry before? I don't think so. Angela, this is Harry. Harry, my cousin Angela. She's lovely really, if you ignore the squeals," she teased, winking at the taller woman, who laughed. Harry decided he liked her.

"Good to meet you," he said warmly, shaking her hand. "And congratulations."

"Thanks! I've heard about you, of course; you're all she talks about, though she never mentioned you were seeing each other," said Angela. Harry slipped her a smile brimming with the legendary Potter charm.

"Well, she hasn't been honest then, has she?" he declared, putting an arm around Hermione's shoulders and kissing the top of her head. She blushed and fidgeted. Angela laughed at the sight.

"Too cute, I must say. I'll go tell everyone you've arrived, shall I? Oh, I'm so glad you came! This is going to be _so_ much fun," she announced, hurrying off and disappearing into the hotel. Harry withdrew his arm and Hermione beamed up at him.

"Y'know, I think we might just pull this off," she said, and Harry laughed.

"Piece of cake, _dear_."

She shoved him and picked up her suitcase, purse already on her shoulder. Harry paid the cab driver and he rolled away around the loop and back out to the road. They wheeled their things over to the front desk, where they checked in without incident under their reservation. The clerk made a joke about 'another Granger', and Hermione told him to expect several more in the next day or two, making the man laugh. A talkative bellhop loaded their bags onto a cart and led them through the then-dizzying, elaborate layout of the hotel. Everything was outdoors, as was the way in Cuba. The only time anyone was indoors was when they were in their rooms or in the meal pavilion. Hallways to second floors and stairs were all outside. When they arrived at their room, they saw it was a good location; on the ground floor, in one of the buildings that lined the beach. All the different structures in Varadero were painted bright colours—theirs was orangey-pink. Coral, Hermione called it.

Once they'd finished unpacking, Hermione straightened up from the dresser and turned to look at Harry. "So, what are we going to do about the bed situation?"

Harry shrugged. "It depends on whether or not your family will routinely come into the room."

"They will."

"They don't have keys," he pointed out, but Hermione shook her head.

"Believe me. They will drop in."

"Then I suggest we both sleep in the bed, if you're comfortable with that. I'd ask the front desk for a cot, but they'd see it, and I don't want to set it up every night and pack it away every morning, y'know?" he said, scratching the back of his neck. He grinned when Hermione hesitated. "I promise not to take advantage of you."

"Oh, well in _that_ case..." she laughed, and he did too. "Alright. It's not like they'll be examining the room, I don't think, but it can't hurt to be sure, right?"

"It's your inheritance," he said wickedly, and she rolled her eyes. Harry took a pair of long shorts, a light t-shirt and sandals and went into the bathroom to change. "It's really nice in here!" he called through the door. "All clean and sparkling, and it's pretty big for a hotel." Hermione laughed, and drew the curtains shut so she could change into lighter clothes herself. When they were both done, Harry walked over to the door. "I want to go meet everyone. Are they all as friendly as Angela?" he asked, opening it and waiting for Hermione to leave the room. She did, and he made sure it was locked before linking arms with her and tucking the card key into his back pocket as they strolled down towards the central square of the hotel where the pool, bar, and stage were. They'd learned from the bellhop that there was live entertainment there every evening, so that was Hermione's best guess as to where her family would be.

When they got there (after making several wrong turns and getting frightfully lost for a minute or two), the show hadn't started yet. Hermione immediately spotted the large group of people lounging beside the pool, many soaking up the last of the sunlight. She waved, and a chorus of greetings went up. Four children and two young teenagers jumped up and ran over, all six of them hugging her enthusiastically. Harry was introduced to each of her nieces and nephews, and he made an effort to remember their names. He wanted to be in the good books of the children especially; young observations were clearest, he'd learned, and if they didn't like him, Hermione's chances of getting that inheritance would drop considerably. Then he met the rest of the family that was there—aunts, uncles, cousins, a grandfather, and her parents whom he already knew.

Her father, Harmon Granger, looked him up and down as he shook Harry's hand. "Have you grown taller since I last saw you?" he asked, and Harry shook his head, grinning. He liked this man. "Must be the time zone difference. It's thrown me all out of whack. Feels like it's past midnight, looks like it's seven, and it's actually nine. Ridiculous!" he boomed, and Harry laughed genuinely.

"Good to see you again, Mr. Granger."

"And you, Harry. So when did you and Hermione start seeing each other?" he asked, getting right down to business. The man didn't miss a trick, Harry gave him that. He told him what he and Hermione had agreed on the other week.

"About three months ago now. We'd grown closer, and one thing led to another. You know how it goes, sir."

"I do indeed. Her mother and I started out as friends, too," he said, and smiled at Harry. "You're a good lad. I don't need to give you the don't-hurt-my-daughter lecture."

"Thanks; that takes a load off my chest," Harry joked, inviting the older man to laugh with him. Harmon clapped Harry on the back.

"Good man. I don't believe you've met my sister, Delia?"

Harry relaxed as the evening progressed, maneuvering into his role as Hermione's significant other. He spent his time working his way into the good graces of all her relatives, the lies they'd practiced slipping easily off his tongue. When the show started around nine thirty, he sat beside her, his arm casually slung over the back of her chair. It ended around eleven, and by that time everyone was utterly dead on their feet from the time change. Hermione nearly fell asleep upright on the walk back to their room. Harry could barely keep his eyes open himself. They changed into nightclothes wordlessly, and when they finally fell into bed they were both dreaming before their heads hit the pillows.

_BRRRRRRRRRING._

Harry jerked awake. He got a distinct feeling of déjà-vu as he groped for his glasses, and then for the phone. Looking around to check the time, he spotted a small clock on Hermione's side of the bed that read _7:59am_. He sighed.

_BRRRRRRRRRING._

"Hello?"

"G'morning, is that Harry?"

"Yes."

"It's Kate," said the person on the other end, and Harry put a face to the voice and name. It was Hermione's youngest niece, six years old. "Are you awake?"

"I am now," he said, and couldn't help chuckling a little. "Would you like to speak to Hermione?"

"Yes please!" Kate chirped.

"Alright, one second," he said, and put the phone down on the bed beside him. He leaned over and touched Hermione's shoulder, shaking her gently. "Rise and shine," he whispered. She stirred and stretched. "Kate's on the phone."

"Oh." She rolled over to face him, and he handed her the receiver. "Good morning, honey. Did your mum tell you our room number?"

Harry got out of bed and let Hermione talk to her niece as he went into the bathroom and had a quick shower. He peeked his head out when he was done. The phone was hung up, and Hermione had gone back to sleep. He smiled and changed into his day clothes, then quietly let himself out of the room so as not to disturb her. He walked over to the meal pavilion where breakfast, lunch and dinners were served every day in buffet style, and grabbed himself a plate of eggs and toast. One of Hermione's aunts (Angela's mother) spotted him, and took her husband over to sit with him. Everything was going along well until the aunt—Rose—turned the conversation to the former matriarch of the family, Mabel Granger.

"So I imagine you've heard of poor Aunt Mabel's passing away," she said, and Harry choked on the crust of his piece of toast. She patted him absently on the back as she continued. "Your Hermione's getting the fat part of her money, you know. Apparently there was this whole thing in her will about Hermione having to have a male friend in order for her to inherit. When exactly did you start seeing her?"

Harry swallowed his food. "About three months ago, actually. And I did hear about her death. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Oh, she was a bit dotty anyway in her last years," Rose said, waving it off. "Three months, eh? You two must be pretty serious, I take it? Are you planning on becoming an official part of the family?"

"I—I don't know yet," Harry said, caught off guard. He had to relax or he might accidentally let something slip. "I mean—we're taking it slow. We were friends for years before, you understand," he explained, warming to the story. "We haven't decided how far this is going to go. Or at least, we haven't talked about it yet."

"And how do you feel about it? Obviously the inheritance must be some sort of factor."

"It's not, really. With both our jobs, we'd get along comfortably without it," Harry replied confidently. Rose lifted an eyebrow.

"Are you aware of the total sum, young man?"

"Now, Rose," began her husband, a quiet and mousey man named Gregory, but she shushed him with a wave of her hand, intent on Harry's answer. Both men sighed.

"No, actually. She didn't tell me, only that it was considerable." He braced himself for the expected reaction.

"It's probably just as well! You might marry her for the wrong reasons."

Harry smiled at her with just the right amount of shyness in his face. "All the right reasons are already there, ma'am," he said, and looked down at his plate. She tch-ed and smiled back at him.

"Oh, how sweet. Well, I'm sure you're a good boy," she said as Harry finished his eggs. "Where is she, anyway?"

"She was still sleeping when I left. I was planning on bringing her back breakfast," he said truthfully. That had been his intention. Rose and Gregory stayed seated when he stood up. "Well, it was nice talking to you," he said, and went over to the buffet to load up a plate for Hermione. He walked back to the room and let himself in, taking care not to make too much noise in case she was still sleeping. When he took off his shoes and stepped forward, he saw that she was. He leaned over the bed and waved the plate in front of her nose a few times, then placed it on the table beside her. Her nose followed it, eyes still closed, until she had stirred herself into wakefulness. She yawned, stretching.

"What time is it?"

"A quarter to nine," Harry said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

She yawned again, then blinked and looked around at the plate of food. "You brought me breakfast?"

"Yeah, you were sleeping after I had my shower so I went and ate by myself. Well, not all by myself—your aunt Rose cornered me while I was there."

That got Hermione's attention. She sat up and leaned forward. "She's the worst gossip of the entire family, and shall we say not one to mince words. What happened?"

"It was fine until she brought up your great aunt. She knows about the inheritance thing. If she's that bad a gossip, the whole family'll know by lunch."

"Damn," Hermione swore.

"I think I fended her off pretty well," he said in his own defense. "I said it wasn't a factor, that we could live comfortably without it and stuff. She seemed to think that I shouldn't know exactly how much it is, or—oh, and that's the other thing: she asked me pretty much what my intentions towards you are. She seemed to think if I knew how much it is I'd marry you for the wrong reasons—I handled that one well, at least."

"What did you say?"

"Just that the right reasons were there already, or something like that."

"That's sweet."

"That's what she said."

"Well, if she's up, then others probably are," she said, and put the plate into her lap to eat. "I'm _starving_," she said between bites. "Thanks for bringing this back here, Harry."

"No problem," he said, patting her knee and getting to his feet.

"You know, you don't have to act all boyfriend-like when we're alone," she called after him as he went into the bathroom. He stuck his head back out and grinned at her.

"I know."

She smiled up at him for a long moment, until they both blinked at the same time and went about doing what they'd been doing. _That was odd_, he thought to himself before putting it out of his mind and brushing his teeth.

They were out of the room ten minutes later. A few of Hermione's family were already out by the pool, including Angela and her fiancé, David, whom Harry hadn't met yet. He was tall, and looked every inch the local Cuban man except for his British accent. He'd lived in England since he was ten, he told Harry upon being asked. His parents and family had all stayed in Cuba when he'd gone overseas to school. "Must've been hard, being so far from them," Harry said sympathetically.

"It was at first, but you get used to it," David nodded. "I understand you went to the same boarding school that Hermione did?"

"Yeah, but I was glad to get away from my family," Harry grinned, and David laughed appreciatively.

Someone made the suggestion that they all tear themselves away from the edge of the pool and go for a dip in 'some _real_ water'. Harry detoured back to the room to get his trunks while the rest headed on to the beach. When he caught up with them, they already had a good spot staked out under a couple of palms. The sand was dotted with various other vacationers as well, and there were a few people in the water. It was shallow and warm, about knee-deep up to fifty feet out before getting deeper. Harry expected Hermione to follow in Angela's footsteps and stay on the shore, saying it was too early to get wet, and so he was surprised when she dove right in beside him, splashing him on the way. "Oh, I see how it is!" he cried, and lunged for her. The waist-high water slowed him down, and she danced out of reach, laughing. He held his breath and went underwater, launching an alternative assault on her ankles from below. This time he succeeded, and yanked her feet out from under her. She tumbled over backwards with a spectacular splash, and he backpedaled away as fast as he could before she recovered.

Someone called Hermione's name, and Harry turned to look. A young woman about their age was wading towards them through the water, holding her skirt up around her thighs with one hand to keep it dry and a sunhat onto her head with the other. It was someone he hadn't been introduced to yet, so he waited for Hermione to wave him over before approaching. "Harry, this is Adele, Angela's sister. Adele, Harry."

"Good to meet you," he said with a smile, extending his hand to shake. She didn't take it, he assumed because she was holding her clothes. She nodded, unsmiling. Harry's guard, having been lowered upon deciding that Hermione's family were all a decent sort, went up. She didn't like him, and he'd never met her before, which meant that there was a reason behind it other than just not liking him. He flicked water out of his eyes and studied the woman as she talked to Hermione. There was a distinct sourness about her, when talking to either of them. He decided he would observe how she acted around other people before jumping to conclusions about her. Maybe she just had bad people skills.

But when she left, Hermione turned to him and leaned close to say something into his ear. "Adele is pretty bitter about the inheritance thing. She's not that well off, and she really wanted some of Aunt Mabel's money, but she wasn't left any in the will. My guess is she'll try to break us up over the week so that she'll get a fifth of mine."

"Well that won't be a problem, will it?" Harry winked. "Seeing as we're not really together in the first place."

"Right. Just look out for her. She's never liked me anyway."

"Will do," he agreed, and tackled her into the water.

They spent another hour in the ocean until they got sick of accidentally tasting saltwater, and headed in to land to dry off. Hermione lay on a long sunbathing chair while Harry stretched out on a towel on the sand, hands clasped beneath his head, eyes shut. He smiled. Life was good. White sand, blue sky, green palms, turquoise water; and a warm sun to boot. Not to mention he was sharing it with his best friend; he cracked one eye open to steal a look at Hermione. She looked just as content as he felt. He settled back onto his towel. He fell into a doze, only half awake.

The day passed quietly. He and Hermione spent most of it on the beach, alternating between swimming and dozing. At one point they collaborated with Kate and Neal, the two youngest children, to make a giant sandcastle. It had 'towers and everything', Kate boasted proudly to her mother when she came down to inspect it. Harry ruffled the girl's hair. She was already his favourite of the youngsters, despite having woken him up that morning.

When the sun finally set late that evening, he took Hermione to the show in the square. There was dancing that night. A man with a low voice crooned a beautiful Spanish ballad as all the couples, including Harry and Hermione, held each other close and stepped slowly to the music. When the last note of the last song drew out into the night, everyone applauded and all the couples kissed. Harry acted on impulse. He placed his fingertips under Hermione's chin to tilt her face up, and kissed her softly. She stiffened in surprise at first, but realized that everyone was, and then relaxed into it. She even started to kiss him back a moment before he pulled away. Their eyes met, and both blushed furiously. They'd known it would have to happen eventually, and had agreed to just try not to let the telltale awkwardness of friendship show to her family.

They were less tired that night when it was time for bed; they were used to the time change now. Neither met the other's eyes as they went about their nightly routines, changing and brushing their teeth and whatnot. Harry got into his side of the bed first. They had crossed a line tonight. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. On the one hand, they were very comfortable with each other. They were sleeping in the same bed, after all. On the other, they were going to have to kiss again and probably lots by the time the week was out. And then there was a small third hand that told him he wasn't so against the idea. Hermione slipped in beside him and said "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he whispered back, and after a while, he slept.


	3. Tuesday

**A/N: Updating faster than I usually do. Woohoo! I can only hope you're having as much fun reading this as I am writing it. Just to let you know, it's going to get juicy in this chapter. Apologies for having taken so long to get to it. ;) Enjoy!**

* * *

_BRRRRRRRRRRRING_.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Harry groaned as he was woken up for the third time that month by a phone ringing. He put on his glasses and rubbed his forehead, rolling over to lift the receiver.

_BRRRR—_"Hello?" he answered, cutting off the ring before it could wake Hermione up. She had an amazing talent, being able to sleep through that racket. The person on the other end yawned into the phone. _My thoughts exactly._

"Oh, good morning, Harry," said Hermione's father tiredly. "Are you two up yet?"

"Not really, why?"

"Sorry for waking you up. It's—" Harmon yawned loudly, making Harry yawn as well "—just that my wife woke me up to tell me that she's arranged a day outing for everybody. The tour bus will be here in half an hour. Thought you ought to know."

Harry groaned. "Half an hour?"

"You'll be ready by then?"

"We'll try," Harry said, only half joking, and said goodbye, hanging up the phone. He fell back into the pillows and shut his eyes for a minute, then reluctantly rolled over and tapped Hermione on the arm. She ignored it. He sighed and tossed the sheets off of him, going round to the end of the bed and reaching under the bedspread to tickle her feet. She jerked them up to her torso, stuck her tongue out at him, and covered her head with a pillow. Harry took it away, and uncovered her on the bed. "Up," he said. "Your mother booked a tour for everyone today, and the bus is coming in half an hour."

"Why?" Hermione wailed. "Can't it wait until later? After lunch? After dinner? Tomorrow?"

"Nope. Bus drivers don't like that. Come on, up. It'll be fun," he said firmly, going into the bathroom to let her properly wake up. She was grumpy all the way up until they got out of the room. When they arrived at the lobby, there was a veritable crowd waiting for them. Hermione couldn't help but lighten up when Kate hung off her arm and declared that she was going to spend the whole day with her. Harry privately suspected that Kate was Hermione's favourite, too. The bus arrived a few minutes after they did. They almost left Rose and Adele behind when they hadn't shown up by the time everyone was settled on the bus, but they came hurrying up just as it was about to drive off. Adele shot Harry a dark look, as though it had been his idea to leave without her. He shrugged to himself. He couldn't win every battle.

The tour took them throughout Varadero, the guide over the intercom speaking in quick, clipped English and telling them all what they were seeing. Harry memorized the names of promising-sounding nightclubs so that he could suggest them later when everyone was bored. The bus stopped at the end of the island, and everyone streamed out to see the tower of Quixote. There was a comical sculpture, visible from the road, of Don Quixote chasing his wayward horse beside the tower. Kate began jumping up and down in excitement when she saw a couple of rickshaws pull up beside the tour bus. "I want to ride in one, I wanna ride in one! Can I mum, please please please?"

Delia sighed. "It costs money, dear. Maybe another time."

Hermione glanced sidelong at Harry, and he winked, nodding. He walked over to Delia and her crestfallen daughter. "We'll take her," he offered. "I don't mean to spoil her, but we're on vacation. That is, if you're alright with it."

Kate's eyes lit up and she tugged at her mother's sleeve anxiously. "Mum, _please?_"

"That's very kind of you, Harry. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all. I'll have her home by four," he said winningly, and Delia laughed. Kate clapped delightedly and hugged him around the middle. He tousled her hair, and glanced up at Hermione. She had an odd look on her face. Half smiling, half...something else. Harry shrugged it off and disentangled himself from the girl, walking over to one of the rickshaw drivers. When the driver saw Kate's hopeful, shining face, he gave Harry a ten percent discount on the trip back to their hotel. The price had probably been that to begin with, but it made Harry feel good anyway.

When everyone piled back into the bus, he, Kate and Hermione got into the rickshaw, Kate sitting on the side so she could look out the window. Harry sat in the middle to allow Hermione the same privilege, and leaned back to enjoy the ride. He had his arm around Hermione; it was almost habit now. Several young Cuban men whistled and blew kisses at Hermione as they drove by, making her laugh and blush. "Do they always do that?" she asked when a fourth man did it.

"Only to pretty girls," Harry nodded, and Hermione rolled her eyes and elbowed him. Kate poked Harry's arm.

"Am I a pretty girl?"

Harry laughed. "Of course! You're the prettiest thing any of these people have ever seen."

"Prettier than Aunt 'Mione?" Kate asked cheekily, and Hermione leaned her head around Harry to stick out her tongue.

Harry leaned close as if confiding something very confidential. "Even prettier than Aunt 'Mione, but don't tell her I said that!" Kate giggled and nodded, loving the compliment and the secrecy. Harry smiled. He was confident that she adored him now, if she hadn't before. When the rickshaw arrived at the hotel, Harry and Hermione took Kate to the pool. It had a really neat waterfall-waterslide that the six-year-old loved. They swam with her for a while, and then brought lunch out to the square so they could eat and still watch her.

They spent the afternoon lounging by the pool, Kate in and out of the water and playing with other children who were staying at the hotel as well. Harry read a book that Hermione had let him borrow, while she read another one. Harry put down his book for a while and squinted up at the sky, then around at her. Relaxing on her long deck chair, she didn't notice him watching her. He had never really noticed her legs before, Hermione not being one to show off her body, but they were in full view now. Neither of them had bothered to put on clothes over their swimsuits after getting out of the pool. Harry lifted an eyebrow appreciatively. They were long and smooth, and nicely formed. His eyes wandered up to her midsection—flat as a board, he noted in mild surprise—and then unavoidably to her chest. Her breasts swelled into the bikini top, the curved lines drawing his gaze down her cleavage to the buckle in the middle. Her shoulders were gaining a healthy tan—all her skin was—and her neck arched gracefully forward to support her head as she tilted it to read her book. Harry swallowed. She looked good.

The power of his stare drew her attention, and she glanced up at him. "What?" she said when she saw him looking. Harry blinked, and shook his head.

"Nothing, sorry." He turned back to his book, but kept reading the same sentence over and over. What had _that_ been? He thought maybe he was falling too deep into his role as her lover. It was just Hermione, after all. They'd been best friends for ten years now. He didn't want to mess things up by lusting after her. As soon as he thought it, he almost laughed out loud. Lusting and Hermione didn't belong in the same sentence. He felt bad for thinking it, but it was true. He grinned and turned the page in his book, satisfied that he was sane again.

When the tour bus got back around six, the rest of Hermione's family poured out of it into the lobby, chattering happily about all the sights they'd seen. The lobby, having only the one wall behind the desk, was open on both sides to the driveway and the main square. Harry and Hermione waved to them all, staying seated. Kate gushed to her mother about how nice her aunt and her boyfriend had been to her all afternoon, letting her do whatever she wanted as long as they could see her.

Sitting at the table after dinner with several of the family, Harry suggested to Hermione that they go for a walk along the beach to watch the sun set. She couldn't very well say no in front of everyone, so she smiled and agreed. They got up and left the pavilion, Harry's arm around her waist until they were well out of view and on the sand. They strolled along for a while in comfortable silence. Harry pointed out a pair of dolphins leaping far out in the ocean. Hermione gasped in wonder and stopped to watch. When the animals disappeared, she turned to Harry. "That was a one-of-a-kind thing," she said.

"Yeah, pretty amazing," he nodded, his eyes on her. She smiled and hooked her arm through his as they continued walking. "So how do you like Cuba?" he asked.

"I _love_ it here. The climate, the colours, the beaches and water; I'd move here if I could afford it, and if I could find some other witches and wizards somewhere." Harry blinked at the mention of their brethren. He'd been enjoying himself so much he'd almost forgotten he was a wizard. His wand was stowed at the bottom of his suitcase, but he hadn't touched it since London. Magic was off-limits in such densely populated areas. The odds of a Muggle seeing were too great. Harry watched the clouds move across the setting sun as they strolled along, the light waning and bathing everything in an orange glow. Even the waves seemed burnished gold. They walked aimlessly, talking idly about anything that came to mind.

"How do you think you're faring, with the inheritance I mean?"

"It's going perfectly," she sighed happily. "I couldn't ask for a better person to convince them. Really."

"Well, you make it easy," he said, and she smiled. Harry realized that they were standing very close to each other. There was perhaps six inches of space between them. He could feel her breath on his neck as she watched him. "Very easy." His logical mind had deserted him. Hermione swayed forward the tiniest bit, and he inched closer, tracing a finger lightly up the outside of her arm. She looked down at it.

"There's no one out here watching," she whispered. "You don't have to be all...all..."

"I know," he said, his voice sounding husky and low. She looked up and met his eyes, and that broke it for him. He slipped his hand through her hair to the back of her head and pulled her mouth to his without thought to her reaction. After a stiff moment she responded, winding one arm around his neck and deepening the kiss. His breath quickened. Heat surged through him, and Harry's wits returned with a crash. He broke off the kiss and pushed himself away, stumbling as the sand shifted under his feet, panting a little. Hermione stood staring at him in shock, eyes wide. He didn't fully understand what had just happened. They stood there awkwardly for a few very long seconds until Harry cleared his throat. "Er...s-sorry," he muttered. He had never felt this horrifically embarrassed before in his life.

Hermione couldn't look him in the eye. "It—it's okay," she said, trying and failing to sound casual. She hugged herself uncomfortably as a breeze came up. Harry coughed weakly.

"I think we should go back now," he said, feeling very disturbed that he wanted to tuck a few stray locks of her hair behind her ear. Cuba was obviously having some adverse effects on his brain. He'd have to look up the magical influence of the combined scents of sugarcane and sea air on a person when he got back to London. They started walking back to the hotel in silence, keeping a firm distance between them until they came within sight of their building. Harry didn't put his arm around her like he normally would, instead electing to just hold her hand. It felt sweaty in his. _Attractive_, he thought to himself, and was surprised to discover that the sarcasm was half-hearted.

They arrived at the room without having spoken a word to each other since the beach. Harry jumped in the shower and was out again in two minutes, leaving it empty for Hermione. He slipped in between the sheets on the bed, first removing the elaborately folded towel in the shape of a swan that the maid had left, and tried to fall asleep quickly so that he wouldn't have to feel like he was sharing a bed with her. Funny how until now, he hadn't minded. _Damn_. He'd messed things up. The quiet patter of the shower reached his ears, and he wanted to put a pillow over his head. What had possessed him to kiss her? _The ocean air, the sunset, the general ambience of the quiet Cuban evening..._quiet Cuban evening, his ass. Maybe someone had slipped some Amortentia into his San Francisco that afternoon. Not likely, though; he and Hermione were the only witch and wizard he knew of for miles around. He supposed that all witches and wizards took vacations sometimes, but what were the odds that one was staying at the same hotel they were, and on top of that had taken the trouble to slip some Amortentia to a happy couple? Well—a happy couple to all eyes, anyway.

Hermione entered from the bathroom holding her clothes under one arm, dressed in am uncharacteristically skimpy nightgown. Harry opened one eye at her, and blinked. She saw him looking and flushed a furious dark red, not meeting his eyes. "It's the only one I have left," she muttered, looking the most uncomfortable he'd ever seen her. "I have to wash the other one. My friend bought it for me. I don't know why I took it. These two were the only clean ones I had." She was rambling, Harry noticed. She realized it and stopped. Taking a breath as if to steady herself, she turned to put her clothes on the growing pile in her suitcase and sat down on the other side of the bed across from Harry. She lay down on her side, mirroring him, so that they were both facing away from each other. "Don't steal the covers tonight," she mumbled, and was quiet.

Harry had trouble sleeping. He was all too aware of the rising and falling of the sheet behind him with her breathing. He tried to stay still and not toss or turn, though he itched to. Oddly, he got the feeling that Hermione was forcing herself to be still as well, though she gave him no reason to think that except that she was unmoving. Her breaths weren't deep enough for her to be asleep, he realized after a while. She was just as wide awake as he was.

That uncomfortable feeling left him wondering why. Was she distressed about what he'd done? He didn't think it was _that_ big a deal, but then again, she hadn't seen anyone since Ron. A kiss to her was probably much more significant than it was to him. _Not to mention we're friends and not just two people who can hook up_. That was true too. So why had he done it?

Harry sighed and pulled the sheets a bit further over to his side of the bed. Immediately he felt a hard yank on them as she tugged them back over to her side. He rolled over to stare at her—he'd been right, she was awake—but she didn't turn to look at him, just pretended she was asleep. Harry grinned, unable to help it, and shook his head, lying back down. This time he fell asleep quickly, and dreamed of the colour blue.


	4. Wednesday

**A/N: And I'm back, back, back, back again, gain, gain.**

* * *

Harry woke slowly. There was no alarm clock buzzing, no phone ringing, no one shaking him into wakefulness. He kept his eyes closed, smiling and turning his cheek into the pillow, then lifted his head and discovered a small damp circle of drool from overnight. _Lovely._ He rolled over onto his back and glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. Her long brown hair was messily spread over her pillow, framing her sleeping face. Her lips were parted slightly, breathing quietly, and one hand was curled up by her cheek just barely touching the tip of her nose. Harry smiled, and was forcibly reminded of the previous evening.

The smile disappeared quickly. He groaned and raked his fingers through his hair with difficulty—it was tangled from a night's sleep—and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He sat on the edge and rubbed his face in his hands. _Maybe she won't remember_, he thought hopefully; he didn't even bother reprimanding himself and just shook his head, standing up and getting dressed. He let himself out of the room and strolled over to the meal pavilion to grab a bite to eat. He was surprised to find that breakfast had stopped being served already; a man in uniform told Harry that he'd have to wait for lunch to open in just over an hour. It was ten thirty. Harry felt disgruntled and annoyed; he wanted food when he got up in the morning. _Stupid rules_, he thought as he kicked a stone off the walkway, hands shoved into his pockets. How irritating.

His feet took him out of the hotel and into the bustling town outside of it, packed to brimming with markets for the tourists. On impulse he bought a little piece of pottery for Hermione as a way of apologizing; it was a circular sun-moon, sculpted intricately and painted with bright colours. The moon half's face was laughing as the sun winked. It reminded him of her.

He decided to surprise her with a picnic, since lunch was so far away in his opinion. He bought some fruit and sandwich materials, and some raw sticks of sugarcane as a treat for dessert. He'd become very partial to it. He debated buying a picnic basket, but couldn't rationalize every using it again, so didn't. Putting the food and a bottle of grape juice into a bag, he headed back to the hotel. It was a hot day; somewhere around 35° in the sun, and thankfully cooler in the shade. People splashed in the pool as he walked by, and some waved—relatives of Hermione. He vaguely recognized their faces, but hadn't really talked to any of them before, so he just waved back and continued towards the room.

Hermione wasn't there when he arrived. A note was sitting on the dresser—it read:

_Hi Harry._

_I'm out at the beach._

_-Hermione_

Short and to the point. Harry nodded to himself and left the room with the picnic supplies (fattened by a blanket from the closet to put down), heading to the beach. He figured he'd rent a car and take her inland, off the peninsula, and make a day of it—find a nice shady spot somewhere in the countryside to sit and eat. He was so absorbed in his thoughts, planning the outing, that he almost walked right by Hermione, building a sandcastle with Kate. Two other children—more nieces and nephews—were close by. He paused ten feet away, yet unnoticed, and watched them. Hermione looked content and cheerful, laughing as Kate dumped a bucket of wet sand on top of one of the turrets, doubling its height. "It has to be big, or the king won't see it when he's riding home," Kate explained. Harry smiled.

"And what sort of adventure has the king been on?" Hermione asked, sticking a leaf on the end of a twig to form a tiny flag. Kate glanced up and saw Harry, looked at the things he was carrying, and shrugged.

"Oh, he was on a picnic," she said in that lofty, know-it-all childish way. Hermione laughed, and so did Harry. She turned and saw him, and instantly got to her feet and curtsied. Kate leaped up too and did a little bob, then cried, "Welcome home, your royal majestry!"

"I'm so glad there was an extra-tall tower, or I might've gotten lost. Did you keep the castle in good order while I was away?"

"Yessir, your majresty!" Kate giggled.

"Excellent," Harry nodded. "Now where's my queen?"

Hermione elbowed him, rolling her eyes and grinning anyway. "Right here, I suppose." Harry put down his bag and blanket and wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her cheek. She turned bright red, and Harry let go as Kate clapped delightedly.

"Kissy-kissy!" she squealed, making both adults laugh again. "Can I be the princess?"

"It does seem to be a bit princess-less around here, doesn't it?" Hermione said, looking up at Harry, who nodded in agreement. He beckoned to Kate and she rushed over to stand in front of him, breathless with excitement. He knelt to be at her level and touched both of her shoulders.

"I hereby crown you—"

"Thee!"

"Thee—Princess Kate of all...Beachfordshire," he said solemnly, and delicately placed an invisible crown on her head.

"Where's the crown?"

"It's a magic crown, Princess Kate. It's invisible to everybody except true royalty, like the three of us."

"What's it look like? Has it got diamonds and jewels?"

"Of course! Every kind of jewel ever discovered. And it's gold and silver and it shines in the sun."

"Everything shines in the sun," muttered Hermione. Harry glared up at her, indignant.

"It shines _especially bright_ in the sun," he grumped, annoyed that his word as king had been questioned. Hermione grinned in satisfaction. Kate prodded him in the belly.

"Do I have a steed?"

Harry nodded. "Of course. You have a white unicorn, whiter than the snow at Christmas and with a gold horn as bright as your crown." He had no difficulty conjuring up fantastical elements for the girl. He'd seen unicorns before; he'd seen sparkly crowns before. He couldn't count how many antique shops he'd been through while searching for the Horcruxes four years ago. He glanced at Hermione, who was probably remembering the two times they'd seen unicorns before. Once in a Care of Magical Creatures class with Professor Grubby-whatsherface, who was subbing for Hagrid; and once when they were eleven, in the Forbidden Forest during detention with Hagrid and Ron and Draco Malfoy.

Harry took a moment while he was getting to his feet to reflect. It had been ages since he'd seen Malfoy. He'd played the deciding role in the final battle between the Order, the Ministry and the Death Eaters. Voldemort had had Harry, Hermione and Ron surrounded by himself and five Death Eaters; Draco Malfoy had been one of them. The trio had sent out spells all at the same time, hoping to take out as many Death Eaters as they could before they had to put up shields. Showing an astounding amount of courage and character, Malfoy had turned on his comrades, stunning the man beside him as the other three were downed by Harry, Ron and Hermione. Only Voldemort was left. He'd stupidly rounded on Malfoy, livid that one of his own had betrayed him, and Harry had taken his chance.

_Voldemort's body lay unmoving on the ground. The four teenagers stood staring at it, speechless and breathless. Hermione was the first to speak, quietly. "He...he's dead?"_

_Harry nodded, and swayed on his feet, suddenly exhausted. Hermione caught his arm and supported him, though she was shaky as well. "It's over," he said firmly, and looked up at Malfoy. The pale-haired boy was still staring at Voldemort's lifeless body, as if trying to convince himself that it was true. "Malfoy," he began, then stopped. "Draco." The other boy tore his gaze away from the body and met Harry's eyes. Harry felt uncomfortable—he'd hated this person with a passion for seven years—and still wasn't entirely sure that Malfoy hadn't just missed when he'd hit the Death Eater. Seeing the look on his face now, however, made up Harry's mind. "Thank you."_

_Malfoy nodded, and didn't say anything. Harry walked over to him with effort and extended a hand. Malfoy looked at it for a few seconds, then clasped it with his own and shook. Harry felt a warmth start to spread through him, from the realization that Voldemort was indeed finally dead. He grinned. Malfoy hesitated, then grinned back uncertainly, as though it was paining him. Harry threw back his head and laughed with the feeling of a humongous weight being lifted off his shoulders, and let go of Malfoy's hand. He staggered over to the top of the small rise in the middle of the lawn, and stood surveying the battlefield around him. Witches and wizards still fought each other in little pockets across the Hogwarts grounds, unaware that their leader had fallen._

"Harry?"

He jumped slightly and blinked. He'd been lost in his thoughts and forgotten where he was. Looking around and seeing sunny Cuba, he shook his head to clear it of dark memories and smiled sheepishly for the girls. "Sorry, ladies; I was dazzled by your beauty for a moment there." Kate giggled, satisfied, but he could tell Hermione was resolving to ask him about it later. He shrugged mentally; he wasn't keeping it a secret from her. "Speaking of beauty, actually, I heard of a gorgeous little spot inland that's supposed to be great for picnics," he said, remembering what he had come out to the beach for in the first place. He picked up the bag and blanket off the sand. "I was thinking we could have lunch."

"You bought all that?" Hermione asked, and he nodded.

"Well, except the blanket. It's from the room."

She half-smiled, biting her lip. "Alright."

"Can I come too?" Kate piped up.

Harry explained that he wanted some alone time with Hermione, and appeased the girl by telling her that with the king and queen gone, it was up to the Princess to fend off attacks on the castle and to run it while they were away. Kate liked that. Leaving her to perform her duties, Harry led Hermione back to their room so she could change into regular clothes, and they walked out of the hotel.

They were walking towards the car rental agency when Harry spotted something odd.

A local man was strolling casually down the street, dressed in a woman's bonnet, a suit jacket with the sleeves rolled up, bathing suit bottoms (thankfully trunks and not women's wear), and two different shoes. Harry blinked and stopped walking. Hermione looked at him and was about to ask when he nodded in the direction of the strangely dressed man. She turned, caught sight of him, and a smile broke out on her face. "That's a badly integrated wizard if I ever saw one," she murmured. "Dangerous in such a densely populated area. Should we...?"

Harry nodded, and approached the man from behind, tapping him politely on the shoulder. "Excuse me, sir, I was wondering if you could tell me where the car rental agency is?"

The man turned around and opened his mouth—and it fell open even further. "_Harry Potter?_" he whispered, disbelieving, and grabbed Harry's hand, pumping it enthusiastically up and down. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Hermione, who was trying not to laugh, and rolled his eyes. It was a wizard, all right. "Is such a happy chance to meet you!" the man was saying excitedly in heavily accented English, still shaking Harry's hand. His arm was starting to feel loose in its socket. "Honor—a _big_ honor, sir!"

"It's great to meet you too," Harry said, sighing.

"How do you pick me out of crowd?" the man asked eagerly. "You have magic sight?"

"Er—" Harry could hear Hermione snickering behind him. He nodded solemnly. "Something like that."

"Do you stay at the Flying Tortoise?"

"The what?"

"Wizard hotel here on Varadero!"

"Oh. Uh, no. Actually I'm here on vacation with Hermione—" he indicated her over his shoulder "—and her family, so we're pretending to be Muggles. We're staying at the same hotel they are."

"You like come see the Flying Tortoise? Is much fun time, yes? You have good time, yes?"

Harry looked at Hermione, who shrugged. "I'm game if you are. I could use a little relief from Muggledom; I've been wanting to cure sunburns on everybody I can see for days."

Harry grinned. "Let's go, then. My wand's in the bottom of my trunk...can we meet you somewhere in half an hour, sir, so that you can show us the way to the Flying Tortoise?"

"Yes, yes! One half hour, I see you here. Yes? Adios!"

He shook Harry's hand again, and headed off into the crowd. Harry shook his head, watching him go, and laughed again at his strange outfit. He and Hermione headed back to their hotel at a quick pace, both eager to get their wands and relax back into the wizarding world. Once they had them in their pockets, they met the man at the corner they'd left him at, and he took them through the crowded streets on a winding path, often changing direction entirely as though he kept getting lost—or as though he were trying to lose someone following them. Harry's suspicious mind still had tendencies to assume the worst, even after four years of peace.

When they stopped in front of a tiny little fishing shack just off the beach, Harry grinned, anticipating how big it would really be on the inside. Sure enough, the man rapped on the door in a complicated series of knocks, and the door swung open to reveal a large lobby decorated in tropical beach fashion with large, round porthole windows, potted palm trees, and surfboards hanging on the walls. The center focus of the lobby, and likely the thing that gave the hotel its name, was a giant tortoise—obviously having been worked on by a taxidermist—that sat in the middle of the floor. There were a couple of children clambering up its sides and sliding down as Harry and Hermione walked into the lobby.

"Welcome to Flying Tortoise!" said their guide, who flashed them a cheerful smile and Disapparated with a _crack_.

"How is it a _flying_ tortoise?" Hermione muttered into Harry's ear, and he opened his mouth to reply that he didn't know when the answer became apparent. The tortoise, complete with children shrieking with delight and hanging off it, rose slowly into the air and floated around the lobby three times before landing back down in its original spot. Harry and Hermione both laughed, enchanted, and strolled over to the front desk. "Hello," Hermione began, and the clerk looked up. "What is there to do here?"

The clerk gave them a brochure full of wizard tours of Varadero, activities around the Flying Tortoise, lists of wizard restaurants, and various wizard tourist attraction spots all over Cuba. Apparently it was a popular vacation destination for wizards as well as Muggles. Harry folded up and put the brochure in his pocket, and took Hermione out the back of the hotel and onto the section of beach directly behind it. It was sectioned off from the rest of Varadero, with signs and spells to keep Muggles out, so that wizards could practice magic on the beach. They found a spot on some grass under two palms just before the sand started, and Harry spread down the blanket.

Once they'd got all the food set up, Harry paused Hermione as she was making herself a sandwich. "I'm sorry—about yesterday," he said awkwardly, and she smiled at him.

"It's okay. It was...a strange atmosphere. If you hadn't, I probably would have," she admitted, and they both laughed. She squeezed his hand. "Still friends?"

"Friends," he agreed, and they went about making their sandwiches, falling into easy conversation. They talked about everything—the inheritance, her family, Cuba, their respective jobs, what was happening in each other's lives. Hours passed, and the shadows began to lengthen. Though Harry was fully enjoying himself, Hermione reasoned that her family would begin to wonder where they were. They were all about spending time together, and she didn't want them to think she was alienating herself from them by being with Harry.

They packed up and headed back through the Flying Tortoise just in time to catch another lazy flight around the lobby; Harry put down the bag and jumped on at the last second, Hermione gasping with worry that he'd fall and laughing at the same time. He sat on one giant flipper, holding on to the rim of the shell, and dangled his legs below as the tortoise turned in big, slow circles, unaffected by his weight. When it touched back down, he and Hermione reluctantly left the wizard hotel and proceeded into the street outside, arm in arm not because they had to but because it was comfortable.

They got back to their hotel in about forty-five minutes. By that time it was around six in the evening; the sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, but the temperature was as hot as ever. Harry suggested they eat before the meal pavilion closed (he grumbled for a while about it as they ate). They took advantage of the opportunity afterward to go for a dip in the water and watch the sun set in the distance. The sky had just begun to explode into a riot of colour, all reds and oranges and yellows and purples, when Adele came to the edge of the sand and called out to them. "Hermione, everyone's gathering at the pool area—all of us, except the kids! A kind of party—you'll join us?"

"Sure!" Hermione hollered back, and Adele nodded and walked back up to the hotel. Harry made one last dive into the warm aqua water, emerging with a splash and shaking his head like a wet dog, and then allowed Hermione to herd him back towards shore. Upon arriving at their room she shooed him into the bathroom so she could change into her so-called 'nicer clothes'. Harry grumped about her not wearing nice clothes for him.

"I'm your _boyfriend_," he grumbled. "You should be putting in an effort to look nice for me, I would think."

"I would, but you're not really my boyfriend," she retorted as she closed the door in his face. He sat down on the closed toilet seat lid. She'd been smiling as she said it, and it wasn't any news, but he was almost unpleasantly surprised to hear it. He felt funny, too; a little twinge in his midsection that he identified as an odd manifestation of hunger. He'd have to get himself a hamburger from the bar.

When she'd finished—and he didn't understand why _she_ couldn't have just changed in the bathroom, rather than locking _him_ in there—they headed over to the central area of the hotel to meet up with the rest of her relatives. They turned the corner leading into it, and were bombarded by people, laughing and clapping each other on the back, every single one of them with a drink in their hand. Harry found himself being swept up in the party atmosphere, and made his way over to the bar to get himself a drink. "A San Francisco, please," he yelled over the deafening beat of the music and the crowd of dancing people. He'd taken a liking to the drink, and gulped down half his glass as soon as the bartender handed it over.

Time passed more quickly from then on. He felt his self-consciousness sliding, his muscles relaxing, his disposition melding into a more mellow state. Several drinks passed from his glass to down his throat. Everything was dim lights, blurring bodies, sweat mingling on each other's skin. He found himself dancing intimately with a girl, his hands on her hips, moving together to the fast beat and slowly getting closer and closer. She lifted her head to look at him, and it was Hermione. All that was running through Harry's head was how attractive she was, and how well she moved, and how enjoyable it felt to have her hands pulling him towards her. It occurred to him to kiss her, and it seemed like a good idea, so he did. She got right into it, kissing him back with passion and tongue, and underneath the brightly flavoured alcohol he could taste coconut; she must have had some at some point in the evening.

He dimly registered a tap on his shoulder, and reluctantly broke away from Hermione to turn and see who it was. Blonde hair...Adele. She was smiling embarrassedly. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, and he had no reason to doubt her sincerity, "but could I have a word?"

Harry frowned, processing what she'd said, and then nodded. "Sure." He looked back at Hermione, who shrugged and waved him off. He wondered for a moment if she would remember this in the morning, and then turned to follow Adele. She led him off to the side of the square, around the end of the bar into a dark little corner. He was hazily suspicious—this woman didn't like him, after all—but shrugged it off. She didn't look like she was going to do anything underhanded. That was thinkunable. Inthunkable. Unthinkable. Harry blinked a few times and tried hard to concentrate on Adele's words; they were sliding in and out of focus.

"...I was thinking, what's the point of being all sullen, if there's no chance in getting what I want?" she was saying now. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and bit her lip shyly, looking up at him through her lashes. "It's obvious you two are very happy together, and there's no excuse for me to be mean. So...can we be friends?" She extended her hand to shake, a very innocent and pleading look in her eyes. Harry didn't see why not. After all, how could such a guiltless face lie? He was probably being silly before when he thought she was stupid. She was so nice. _Everyone_ was nice. Especially Hermione; speaking of her, he wanted to get back to that kiss. He shook Adele's hand.

"You're alright," he said, slurring his words together so that they sounded more like "yurrar-eyelt". Adele smiled, and even through his drunkenness he could see the certain catlike tendency about it.

Harry made his way back through the crowd, grabbing another drink on the way. When he found Hermione again, she was dancing with three of her cousins in a small circle, which widened immediately for him as he joined. The music surrounded him, filled his head, swirling around with the alcohol and emptying him of anything but the fast beat that matched the pace of his heart. Everything was a blur, throbbing and moving and touching. Hermione kept bumping up against him as they danced beside each other. He couldn't stand it, wanted her to either stop teasing or start acting on it, so he pulled her into his arms and held her against him as they moved. She reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers, and suddenly with him breathing in her scent and her sweat he felt twice as intoxicated as he was. She was everything; she was in front of him and part of him and he never _ever_ wanted to let her go.

It came as no surprise to anyone watching them that sometime around midnight, Harry started to pull Hermione towards the edge of the square, in the direction of their room. He couldn't stop kissing her; it was as though her lips held magnets, polarized opposites of his. The words _lust_ and _love_ kept running through his head. No thought of doubt about what he was doing ever crossed his mind; for all the fuzziness and disorientation and spinning, he was absolutely sure that he wanted her, needed her.

He fumbled with the key, managing to unlock their door just as her waiting mouth found his again. They stumbled backwards into the room, barely shutting the door behind them, and started scrabbling at each other's clothes. _I want this woman. _He kissed her. _I need this woman._ Their shirts were off. _I love this woman._ Lips still locked, Harry guided her over to the bed and laid her down, sinking down on top of her, and the night spiraled away into a haze.


End file.
